Metallic Red

Being alone or in a small group in space is a classic story setup. Even before space people did it with ships, like Robinson Crusoe or Swiss Family Robinson. Movies like The Martian or Gravity, podcasts like Vast Horizon or Wolf 359 or Girl in Space, and IF games like Protocol or Seedship all deal with isolation in space.

To me, that says that there's something about the experience that satisfies some primal human urge for self-evaluation and discovery, like a spiritual quest to understand yourself. In this game, **Metallic Red**, you float through space, tend a garden, communicate on the internet, order packages, and get into Tarot; a very 2020 kind of life.

The gameplay is split into days, with a typically day consisting of browsing the web, checking your plants, and sleeping with strange dreams. It changes quite a bit by the end of the game.

The tone of the game is melancholic and isolated, with themes of change, loss, and growth. It is well-put together; the only thing that looked like a bug was a possibly repeated conversation.

I'm not sure whether the game was structured around a certain set of themes or if it was built around this character and just imagining what life would be like for a person. I wonder if it's the latter because (Spoiler - click to show)someone being raised religiously then becoming depressed as an adult, leaving the religion, and getting into gardening and tarot is such a universal experience that I know 2 or 3 people personally who have done it and dozens more online. So this could just be a way to take a universal experience and put it into space.

In any case, I liked this story. State isn't really tracked; you can use a chapter select to hop from part to part. I forgot one of the instructions during a cooking segment and couldn't figure out how to get out of it for a while, but I found that part satisfying.

Adapted from an IFCOMP24 Review

Verisimilitude is a great word. All those 'i’s in a row, playfully bookended by complementary phonics, they really sing, don’t they? It’s also kind of a holy grail in fiction, Interactive or otherwise. Which, on the surface, why? Why do we care? Certainly fairy tales, to pick one example, don’t give a flip about realism but obviously have staying power. But are they highly regarded? Eh… At its core, stories thrive on reader empathy, the ability to vibe with the piece on some fundamental emotional level. All too often though, intellect is the cold gatekeeper to our vulnerable emotional core. “Well, no one could clear the DMV that quickly therefore the rain kiss is invalid AND I NEED NOT CRY.”

Stories that effectively bat aside that self-important intellect succeed more than ones that don’t, and succeed MUCH more than ones that try to engage that intellect and fall short. Intellect just luuurves finding fault, that jerk. As a side note, intellect is powerless against ambiguity. Details left unexplored may create a chorus of background questions, but as long as the story doesn’t engage those questions the best intellect can do is whine in the distance. Give it concrete details though, and hoo boy it will go ham on them.

Is there anything more satisfying than watching a bully get his comeuppance? As dickish as intellect can be, a work that beats it at its own game? *chefs kiss* Man, does Metallic Red give it a drubbing, and it is glorious. This work opens as a solo space flight, where gameplay is clicking through the mundane but crucial tasks of keeping alive and sane in a tiny box hurtling through the unforgiving void. Choice-select is a great paradigm here. There are things that MUST be done, that the protagonist is well familiar with, and choice-select steers things in a totally acceptable way. You don’t really have a choice not to maintain your hydroponic garden because… death. If all it did was cycle the player through the amazingly well-conceived routine that would be enough. Where it augments those details with communications and external interactions it goes to a next level.

One of the harder things an author engaging verisimilitude needs to accomplish is convincing external communications, each with a purported unique fictional author. These communiques must SOUND like different people, not extensions of the narrator. As compelling as the daily routine was conceived, every interaction the protagonist has with the outside world is delightfully, amazingly, of its own voice and cadence. I have not seen this level of schizophrenia employed so effectively.

Then there were the dream sequences. The graphic presentation changes during these, which is always a welcome touch for me. More importantly, the dreams FELT like dreams. They were wildly diverse, and even when reflecting backstory and background did so in a convincingly dream-logic way, rather than the stealth flashback/infodumps these things can often be. Mostly. I was actually gleefully forming this thought as I played when one dream, culminating some accumulating hints, was basically an unadorned flashback/infodump. Damn you work, you let intellect up off the mat during the count! Fine, one misstep, in the face of everything else I can forgive that.

I really cannot overstate how well conceived and written this early gameplay was. I could have spent a full two hours just banging about the spaceship, so immersively seamless was its rendition. It was magnetic. Some delightful samples which are only a flavor, and may make more sense in context:

“chard: due to its tolerance for hydroponic growing methods.” [As a hydroponic hobbyist I can attest to chard’s unholy growth rate. I laughed out loud at “chard sphere.”]
"It’s not that you admire the past, more that you prefer to own things that can be taken for granted. "
“Bon Voyage? More like Bone Adios!”

Eventually, we segue to a more plotty, ‘explore your surroundings in service of a low key dramatic arc’ sequence. This part was no less well conceived than the first, but because gameplay paradigm shifted, the feel also shifted. Less premium was placed on verisimilitude, and more on narrative momentum. It is only slightly less accomplished at this, which couldn’t help but be deflating. Not a lot, just a little. In particular, the decision to put (Spoiler - click to show)a fiddly cooking puzzle inline to the plot really slowed things up for no reason. More importantly though, it felt like the emotional impact was missing.

This work battered, just crushed intellect in a thoroughly satisfying way. Yet, with unfettered access to emotion, it never quite engaged. Part was, I think, the slow drip of background that tried to build towards it. In addition to being overshadowed by the day-to-day details, it also presented as a cerebral ‘what is going on here?’ puzzle. Its solution then, when revealed, was more brainy than hearty. Another element was the details the work chose to share with us. We focused a lot on the protagonist’s (Spoiler - click to show)dissatisfactions and estrangement but not so much on their (Spoiler - click to show)initial religious engagement. By only giving us a one-sided view of the protagonist’s core dilemma, we don’t really appreciate the depth and drama of the final choice, no matter what the narrative belatedly tells us.

I’ve said enough on that. As a letdown, it was slight. The accomplished first half engaged me fully on the power of its writing and well thought out setting. The POWER of it was thrilling. It built such a good will that I was engaged through its breadth, even if the dial flickered a bit.

Shocking final twist: the denouement revealed that this work was a draft. ARE YOU KIDDING ME, A DRAFT??? Something this accomplished, this compelling, this well conceived, this is the FIRST PASS of the author’s brain? With that kind of intellectual ability, WHY AREN’T YOU CURING CANCER, AUTHOR??

Played: 9/16/24
Playtime: 45m
Artistic/Technical ratings: Engaging/Mostly Seamless
Would Play After Comp?: No, but likely to seek out rest of series

Artistic scale: Bouncy, Mechanical, Sparks of Joy, Engaging, Transcendent
Technical scale: Unplayable, Intrusive, Notable (Bugginess), Mostly Seamless, Seamless

(This is one of those games that’s difficult to discuss without getting into spoiler-territory, and blurring out ¾ of the review would be an awkward compromise, so caveat lector).

A couple of times this Comp, I’ve stumbled onto decidedly non-standard ways of experiencing games: I mistook a jokey ending in the Curse for the main thrust of what it was trying to do, and I inadvertently gave myself the same name as the principal NPC in Final Call, making it all go off a bit more Fight Club than intended. Now with Metallic Red it’s happened again: when my solitary space-trucker had a dream where a hooded figure asked “have you drunk the kykeon?”, I assume for most people it will be an alienating, mysterious beat, but for me it was like sinking into a warm bath: oh hey, we’re doing the Eleusinian Miseries 3, er, Mysteries!

In fairness, that’s not all we’re doing. Metallic Red starts out quite austere: after the lovely but forbidding tarot-inflected cover art sets the mood and an introductory paragraph establishes the boxy, dilapidated nature of the ship you’re piloting, you’re confronted with an excerpt from Oedipus Rex that ends “Do you know the family you come from?” From there you’re shunted into a series of highly granular, dull activities as you while away the days until you reach your destination. That first day you meticulously clean the ship; on subsequent ones, you can tend to the greens in the hydroponics bay, exercise to keep muscle atrophy at bay, or just futz around on the internet. More interesting, perhaps, are your flirtations with divination: you 3D-print a tarot deck and pull a single card every day or two, and you’re also erroneously delivered a mechanical orrery that you rewind in order to track the astrological influences of your life and birth, though in both cases there’s something half-hearted or desultory about your engagement, performing the requisite actions without thinking about what they mean.

Oh, and in between days you dream, visited by some that appear to be fantasies, others that might be memories (the Eleusinian Mysteries one struck me as the former at first, but turns out to be the latter). Their content seems to reflect a fear of engagement (in one, you’re horrified at the idea that another person might be coming within a thousand kilometers of your ship), of disorder (an earlier part of that sequence involves trying to adjust one bolt in your food-synthesizing machine, only to be horrified when it breaks), or both (the most viscerally compelling one sees you sitting next to your dad on the grounded ship, as he eats a hamburger and spills food waste all over the consoles).

To say this is all conveys a monastic vibe would be an understatement – but per the twist halfway through, it would also be completely wrong. Your trip, you see, has taken you back to Eleusis, or at least an underground colony that’s named itself after the sanctuary of the cult. Here, the spartan choice-based interface, which previously presented only a few options at a time, each of which had to be exhausted to progress, blossoms into the freedom of parserlike navigation as you’re welcomed back to a spiritual community that once counted you a member: you’re here to consult with the hierophant. And as you wait for your audience, you meet an old friend again, help with the cooking via a lovely peanut-sauce-making minigame that’s dead-on to how I do it (add half a dozen ingredients a little bit at a time to keep things proportional as you accumulate enough for the dish, tasting liberally as you go) before being served a deliciously-described feast – by leaving the brethren, you haven’t escaped asceticism but embraced it.

The hierophant, meanwhile, is no dogma-bound prelate. By this point I was unsurprised that he was sympathetic, while the protagonist indefatigably pressed an absurd point, insisting on being allowed to renounce membership in the community – absurd because, as the hierophant reasonably pointed out, while they’re happy to say goodbye to you and let you continue on your own way, what you’re really asking for is to forget what you learned when you became an initiate, and that’s impossible. And then the game ends.

This review has seen me just uncharacteristically narrating the plot of the game, because I think before evaluating Metallic Red it’s important to get a sense of what it’s doing, and what it’s doing requires some explication (I haven’t read other reviews yet, but I’m very curious to see what folks made of it) – and that comes back to the Eleusinian Mysteries. Again, it’s not just the Mysteries, there’s some business with jade figurines that I think must be drawn from a different tradition, references to bird-auguries that are more Roman than Greek, and it’s notable that your ship is a “Buraq class”, referencing the flying steed that took the prophet Mohammed on a trip to the heavens. But the conversation with the hierophant clearly centers on something the protagonist learned or intuited in a ritual, so this is the natural jumping-off point. And while we don’t fully know what happened in the sanctuary at Eleusis, we do know they focused on the earth-goddesses Demeter and Persephone, and had to do with the latter’s journey to and return from the Underworld: allegories for death, but also rebirth and, perhaps, immortality.

Why does the protagonist want to escape a memory of immortality? We can’t know for sure, and in fact clearly aren’t meant to; in one of the web-surfing sessions from the first part of the game, you read an interview with a game designer who’s chosen to keep the important elements of the game’s narrative off-screen, only gesturing towards them in dialogue, because:

"when an event has already taken place and players only hear about it after the fact we begin to look at agency differently. No one can change the past, but we can use our agency to build a future."

Still, there are intimations of what might be driving this perverse desire. For one thing, the protagonist’s father, he of the distressing dream, is noted as a major supporter of the cult, and presumably the reason you joined it as well, which puts that Oedipus Rex quote at the beginning into some context. And then there’s your attitude to your decaying ship, which is worth quoting at length as I think it serves as a kind of thesis statement:

"You suspect that once it passes from your hands it’ll be decommissioned but you don’t mind old things. It’s not that you admire the past, more that you prefer to own things that can be taken for granted. If you float through a bulkhead awkwardly and chip some of the paintwork, it’s just another chip to be added to the litany of minor damages the craft has sustained over its working life. And the totality of damages is just what the ship is composed of. No one at this point could really imagine what the Metallic Red was like when it was new. When it was first built, the concept of an object without history was entirely different to what it is now, and there’s no way to think backwards into what it meant whilst surrounded on all sides by the ship as it currently stands."

This idea of an object without history recurs in various forms through the piece: there’s also an article on a jet fighter that’s been abandoned and reclaimed by the jungle, which makes the protagonist muse on the contrast between the anonymous thing it’s becoming and the bureaucratically-known machine it once was, with a serial number and kill counts and all. So too is the theme of going backwards: recall how you retrace your past via the orrery.

Existence as the accumulation of damage; a father who’s part of a religious cult; the impossibility of imagining original innocence when inside the wreck of what it’s become. It’s not very subtle when you look at it like that, is it? Noting that “metallic red” can refer not just to rust but to (iron-filled) blood would just be gilding the lily; so too would nailing down the trauma that makes the protagonist view the knowledge of immortality as a curse rather than a blessing, and turn their back on sensual pleasures to boot.

To be clear, I’m not intending to oversimply what the game is saying – we’re finally at the evaluation part now, and I can say that I very much enjoyed this. The author has taken what could have been a simple core story and through restraint, allusion, and skill, created something so memorable no world-fleeing hermit could forget it. Admittedly, perhaps its blurb’s warning that it contains “elements of esotericism” is too understated – the player probably needs to have a reasonable knowledge of its reference points to make sense of Metallic Red’s agenda – but after all the way of the Mysteries is that only the initiates understand.